The Elephant Prince
"Prana is the force that flows through all things — the most fundamental power there is. And yet it is also a contradictory force, one that defies the natural order. It is thanks to this power that we can transcend the physical limits of the human body."
The prince understood what his uncle was saying.
In pure physical ability alone, creatures far stronger than humans were everywhere — tigers, lions, rhinoceroses, elephants. Their very anatomy set them on a different plane from mankind. And yet humans who could wield Prana could become faster and stronger still.
"The gods are the same. I've never seen one myself, but judging by the forms described in legend, they don't differ greatly from humans. Granted, some have multiple arms, or heads shaped like beasts — but by the structure of a body alone, such forms could never produce the kind of raw power they're said to wield."
"I see."
"And each god carries an epithet. God of the Sky. God of the Sun. Goddess of Love. Goddess of Protection. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Well… because those names describe their divinity, their nature, don't they?"
"Correct. But then how did the humans of that age come to know those divinities and natures in the first place? The sky and the sun, fine — but love, war, protection? Where did those abstract concepts come from?"
"You don't mean…"
"Exactly. Their power carried their will, their philosophy, their intent. Every time they unleashed their strength, that will and that philosophy were transmitted. And in truth, the more one's actions are imbued with a philosophy, the greater Prana's efficiency and range become."
Of course, all of this remained in the realm of speculation — his uncle added as much. But the prince found the reasoning sound enough. His uncle was, after all, the finest warrior in the kingdom.
That said, the notion of imbuing martial arts with philosophy still felt frustratingly vague from the prince's perspective.
"Even so, 'philosophy' is a hard thing to grasp."
"Don't overthink it. Simply take some natural thing you hold in your mind and map it onto your own movement."
His uncle swept a spear through empty air.
"Float like a butterfly…"
He lifted his body, and his time aloft stretched unnaturally long. Just as the words suggested, the image of a butterfly's wingbeats rose unbidden in the prince's mind.
"…sting like a bee."
Fwaang!
The spear punched through the empty air. Its force bore no comparison to any actual bee — and yet once again, the prince saw one in his uncle's movement. Even without sight, the killing intent his uncle radiated, the will, the shift of the wind — all of it reached him with perfect clarity.
"The important thing is this: you must always put your whole heart into it."
"Ah… I understand."
"Do you, truly?"
This was the part most people found hardest to grasp. Sensing his uncle's doubt, the prince spoke what he had understood.
"When you swung that spear, Uncle, you projected the butterfly and the bee you hold in your mind onto your movement — with complete sincerity. There wasn't a shred of falsehood in it, was there?"
"…That's right. When you perform Four-Image Martial Arts, you may conceal the truth — but there must never be a lie in it. The two are similar, yet different.
"You cannot perform Four-Image Martial Arts simply by mimicking forms and techniques while neither believing nor thinking them. The moment you become bound by form and technique, those very limits will shackle you."
His uncle finished a rather impressive flourish of the spear and drove the shaft into the ground.
"Well then. From this day forward, I shall teach you the Four-Image Martial Arts that I know."
"You'll… teach me?"
The prince tilted his head, puzzled. His uncle took the gesture for something else entirely.
"Yes. To awaken Four-Image Martial Arts, one has no choice but to engrave sincerity into body and soul through relentless repetition. Put simply, you repeat an action until you come to believe, of your own accord, that it is sincere…"
"Ah. Yes…"
"It will be grueling, punishing work — but don't worry. If my eye hasn't failed me, you have what it takes to awaken it."
"…"
The prince nodded where he stood. But in practice, he did not follow his uncle's instructions. Instead, he avoided the man and sought time alone.
The reason was simple.
He could not agree with a training method that forced sincerity — philosophy — into oneself by sheer imprint.
He understood why his uncle spoke this way. Four-Image Martial Arts was deeply abstruse. Most people might never even catch the scent of it. So the method was to hammer it in through brute repetition. That was also why his uncle had never seriously attempted to teach him the art before now — it would take no small amount of time, and whether any real result would come of it was far from certain.
Even so, the prince could not shake the sense that it was inefficient. That it was dull.
Every person lived in a different environment, with different physical conditions, different stations, different habits. How could a single philosophy be forced upon them all? Even if it were, the efficiency could never come out the same.
I have to find my own path.
The prince made his way to a hill where few people came. Beneath a great bodhi tree, sheltered from the sun, he entered meditation.
What is martial skill?
A technique for fighting. A technique for victory — or for protecting the body.
Then why do I hone my martial skill?
To grow stronger. To win duels against formidable foes.
No — before that. What does strength mean to me?
Is strength raw power? Is it speed? Or the refinement of technique?
Unbidden, the prince recalled the naga he had once faced. That massive monster had surpassed him in nearly every respect — stronger, faster, tougher. And yet when he still had his eyes, he had driven it back; and even after losing them, though he had been pressed to the brink, he had ultimately won.
How?
Because he had known. Because he had known — or predicted — where and when the attack would come, he had been able to claim victory in the end. Of course, knowing meant nothing if the body could not keep pace. But the same held true of every formidable opponent, including the bandit chief. No matter that the man could use Sword Cry — if the prince had not anticipated that something would come flying from the bandit chief's mouth, he would never have won that fight either.
So that's it. To win a fight, you must understand your opponent better than they understand you.
The first insight struck through his mind like a spear.
Then how does one come to understand an opponent better?
Presence. Gaze. Body heat. The tremor of muscle. Speech and gesture. Every signal an opponent radiates must be received with exquisite sensitivity and made sense of. And for that, one must still one's own heart — quiet as a placid lake. Even a single light leaf, falling upon still water, is something anyone can perceive.
Conversely, to avoid defeat, you must keep your opponent from understanding you.
Like solid stone. Or like a silent plant.
There, the prince's path was already decided. All that remained was to complete it.
"I understand."
Beneath the shade of the bodhi tree, the prince whispered softly to himself.
Having ordered his insights, the prince sought out his uncle. Naturally, the man was furious at the sight of his nephew.
"Where in the world have you been all this time? Don't tell me you were hiding because you couldn't be bothered to train—"
On the verge of voicing his disappointment, his uncle trailed off as he looked at the prince. Something about the boy had changed.
For one, his body had grown slightly larger. He had never been particularly thin before, but now there was a sturdier cast to him. More than the outward change, his musculature itself seemed far denser, harder. And yet he was still as a lake — so different from the last time they had met that he might have been another person entirely. How two such contrary qualities could coexist in one being was beyond the uncle's comprehension.
"I had a small realization."
"A realization? In a matter of months?"
"Yes. And I'd like to know how far it holds up — so I've come to request a spar."
"A spar?"
"Yes. This time, you needn't hold back the way you did before."
"…"
His uncle was flustered — and, at the same time, expectant. He could not begin to guess how far this prodigy had grown in the time they had been apart.
"Elephant Prince. Every time I see you, you're something new."
"…I've said this before, but could you please not call me that?"
Trading idle banter, the prince and his uncle made their way to the training grounds. His uncle took up a blunted spear of suitable weight. The prince carried no weapon at all.
"What are you doing?"
"Bare hands should be enough for now."
"…Heh. So the nephew has started looking down on his uncle, has he?"
A fierce smile crossed his uncle's face as he leveled the spearpoint at the prince. The two of them faced each other — and then, as if by some unspoken signal, they charged.